


how many stars are there

by poetic_leopard



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Attempted Suicide, FRIENDSHIP!!!, Hurt/Comfort, Killugon - Freeform, M/M, Phantom Rouge, Post-Phantom Rouge, fluff/angst, gon is protective, implied leopika, killua's trademark self-deprecation, lightning boy has it so bad for the forest child, sensitive convos about heavy stuff, spoilers for the phantom rouge movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 01:18:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13513746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetic_leopard/pseuds/poetic_leopard
Summary: No, he hadn’t been thinking about dying, but within the upheaval of his every waking fear, he wouldn’t have minded if he had. His throat reduced to a well of pain, his heart didn’t exist, but in that last, trembling second—His final thought had been Gon.or: Leorio, Kurapika and Gon hold an intervention for Killua after he almost gets himself killed.[A/N: this fic compliments the events of the Phantom Rouge movie, but I wouldn't say it's necessary for you to have watched the movie to enjoy it :)].





	how many stars are there

**Author's Note:**

> pls note: trigger warnings concerning suicide & violent imagery

_It’s just - eggshell love. Like birds sitting on a power line. One misstep and suddenly, everything is burning. I don’t want to set things on fire anymore. That’s all.  
_ \- Darshana Suresh, from Howling at The Moon

* * *

_“I think it’s in pain,” Killua remarked. The stag was lying breathlessly on its side against the forest floor, blood pooled in a swampy muddle from where Killua’s poisoned dart had pierced its abdomen. Its left leg was twisted at a grotesque angle, as if it had injured itself in a frantic effort to escape. Its deep, strangely pacifying brown eyes were glazed in agony, its long, brilliant antlers didn’t seem daunting now that they stuck out like a sore pair of thorns. The creature was obviously suffering and Killua just wanted to put it out of its misery._

_He was six years old and he’d rather just be upstairs in his room playing with his action figures, or out about town with the other kids. The kids who rode their bikes across wheatfields and over meandering hilltops, the kids who laughed about silly, inconsequential things that Killua didn’t understand and chased lightning bugs on warm summer evenings. Not that he was ever allowed to join them. Anyone he even remotely considered pursuing had a weird habit of ending up dead._

_He’d been instructed to target the heart of the animal, but he’d missed. He hadn’t meant to, but it had been too late by the time he’d taken the shot. The day was uncomfortably hot and the sun bore down from the tall, encroaching deciduous trees in leaky shafts of lazy light. A mosquito buzzed at his ear and he attempted to grab it, maybe even smush it in his fist but it got away._

_Killua began to prep his shot but his older brother clasped his shoulder hard enough that it hurt._

_Illumi’s eyes were a motionless dead lake as they bore into his. “Weak beings are not entitled to mercy. It had the chance to flee and it failed. Let it die the way it was intended to.”_

_Killua didn’t see how it was intended for the damned animal to twitch in brutal reflex like that, as if it was straining against the mechanisms of its own faltering body._

_“It never stood a chance.” Killua murmured, but he took a step back and lowered his bow because he knew better than to disobey his brother. The last time he’d ended up locked up in a dark room and left to starve for six days straight until his mother discovered what was going on and let him out._

_Illumi was still watching him, Killua could feel his calculating gaze as if it were a ticking dynamite, intent on pulverizing him._

_“What is that face?”_

_“I’m not making a face.”_

_“Yes, you are. Do you feel remorse?”_

_“Can we get on with the next target?”_

_“Don’t make me repeat myself.”_

_Killua clenched either of his fists and felt the nails digging into his skin. “No.”_

_“Good,” Illumi’s response held a flame of disbelief, but Killua didn’t care as Illumi knelt down so that he was eye-level with his little brother and placed both hands on his shoulders. Killua had to bite down on his tongue to keep from wrenching out of his grip. Sometimes, looking into Illumi’s eyes was just like looking into the eyes of a corpse, except perhaps, corpses betrayed a little more emotion._

_Instead of staring directly into his vacuous pupils, Killua’s attention was diverted to a butterfly that had perched itself over the stag’s slow-dying body. Its wings were a phantom yellow melded with curious black spots. It hovered above the stag in ridiculous little circles like it was going mad. Killua had the strangest sense that it might be drawn to the blood. It was making a little fluttering sound, too. It sounded kinda like a salt shaker. Was the forest truly that silent or did living things fall quiet in the presence of death, as if bracing for it? Illumi’s fingers were almost as sharp as his needles against the material of Killua’s jumper._

**_Rattle. Rattle. Rattle._ **

_“You are making many strides, little brother. I’m proud of you, mother is too. You are the family prodigy after all, but you must remember, in our line of work, there is no room for remorse or empathy. We do not stray from what is our duty. You are destined to kill, and kill you will.”_

**_Rattle. Rattle. Rattle._ **

_“Killua,”_

_“Hm?”_

_“Are you listening?”_

_“Yeah.”_

* * *

**i. Leorio**

Killua didn’t understand why he needed an intervention.

It wasn’t as if he’d gone and almost gotten headbutted by a five-thousand ton train on _purpose_.

He hadn’t been anticipating it. Sure, he’d been aware that he’d been treading on railway tracks, but it wasn’t as if he’d intended on one showing up when it did. He was fast as it was. He wasn’t afraid. Had he gravitated towards there? Maybe. He’d genuinely figured those train tracks were old, and that maybe they weren’t in use anymore. It was just bad timing, he’d been too caught up in his own head, he had selective hearing and he’d missed the destabilising sound of the conspicuous train barreling towards him at full speed. Apparently, his excuses were about as useful as a knife in a gunfight. The truth was, he didn’t want to ruminate over it too much. They had bigger problems. The truth was, for the first time in his life, he’d been swept with so much self-hatred that it was threatening to usurp him. The truth was, it was as if he’d lost the right to his own body. His limbs were as good as ashed out cigarettes, his heart had been beating so loud he couldn’t distinguish it from the fatal rumbling of the train. He wasn’t even sure if he’d been truly awake in the moment. And that’s all it was, really. It was just a single moment of uncertainty, as if the world stopped spinning and a chasm opened up beneath him, one he hunched over and stared into like a familiar pair of eyes.

No, he hadn’t been actively trying to get himself killed.

Maybe there had been a thoughtless moment where the fight had drained out of him, and the urge to carry on had just been snuffed out like an old lightbulb. There’d certainly been a moment where he just… Didn’t care anymore. This was the only truly autonomous thing he could ever do for himself. _Screw your legacy, dad. Screw this title I didn’t ask for._ Wasn’t he just like that puppet Retz had been clinging to? Isn’t that all he’d ever been? He would always be under Illumi’s thumb. No matter how far away he tried to get, Illumi’s influence would continue to pollute him, to gather in the shadows, migrate to the very crooks of his mind and make him eat the bloodstained bullet. What had the puppet wearing his older brother’s face said? “You are just a passionless, puppet of darkness.” That was right. _And you came to my defense like the words had been living on your tongue all along…_ No! _Always so blinded in your convictions. Just because something makes sense to you, Gon._ _Doesn’t mean it makes sense to the rest of the world._ Killua’s not a puppet of darkness! You don’t know a thing about Killua. Killua’s not a killer, **he’s my best friend.** Killua felt his skin prickle with the desire to understand. _Does that make me different? Who am I when I’m with you? Do you think being your best friend automatically absolves me of the things I’ve done? Maybe. You make me want to see the light. And the light itself… it burns my eyes less. With you around, anyway._

“Yo,” Leorio stumbled into the room like the big, fumbling beanstalk that he was (most likely after being shoved inside against his will by Kurapika: _score one for mom_ ). He cleared his throat, shot Killua an uneasy smile and closed the door behind them before leaning against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and glancing down at Killua from beneath the rim of his framed glasses.

“This is stupid,” Killua insisted, in lieu of a greeting. “Where’s Gon? Tell him to cut it out. I don’t need a therapy session.”

It was getting dark out, and Killua was hungry and agitated and they’d just watched the Phantom Troupe fight their own goddamn puppets while making vows of settling the score with Kurapika, and this was how he was meant to spend his evening in town? Stuffed up in this tiny hotel room, being guilt-tripped into god-knows what.

_Give me a break._

Leorio’s expression was sheepish as he ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I told them you might not be up for this, but you try convincing a pair of stubborn brats that they don’t know what’s the best thing to do in every given situation. An earthquake couldn’t shake them.” Leorio had shirked off his blazer and was standing in a white shirt that looked like it could use some ironing. Even his eyes looked rather cloudy, like he might’ve downed a beer or six in the short window of time that had passed between the cab ride to the hotel and now. Killua sat (rather impatiently) at the edge of his own bed and stared at Gon’s empty cot that sat on the adjacent side of the room. His was the one next to the window, so the gleam of streetlights from outside spilled in onto the sheets, creating tiny, leaping, prismatic patterns like a game of tetris. Killua honed in on that particular spot to stare at.

He could sense a clumsy, good-natured lecture coming on as Leorio talked out of his ass and tried to come to terms with what had happened.

“Am I really being punished for one mistake of a miscalculated millisecond?” He snapped.

“That’s a creative way to put it.” Leorio pointed out, before gesturing at the empty space by Killua’s side, when Killua just shrugged, he crossed the distance in between them and sat down next to him. _God, I should’ve just taken off and gotten myself some food or something. This is gonna be forever._

He wasn’t ready to discuss the truth with any of them, least of all Gon. The truth was as simple as his own name, he would die before he betrayed Gon, and that had been exactly why he’d almost ended up freezing within the casualty of the moment. That all changed when Gon practically hurtled into him and managed to get them both out of the immediate line of fire, appearing like a rift in the sky; taking him down. He’d been breathing hard, and Gon had looked so ridiculously sincere then, arms splayed out protectively, eyes reduced to hollows veiled behind a scrappy bandage, his hair messy like the result of night-long bad dreams. He hadn’t seemed to make a big deal of it, then. So why this ambush all of a sudden? It just didn’t add up.

“Look,” Leorio began, stretching his legs out in front of him and staring down at his own feet; crossed at the ankles. His eyes seemed to be getting blearier by the second. “We don’t have to talk, you know,” Killua hoped he’d accept the get-out-of-jail free card and just let him be. It would be easier on the both of them. As long as he didn’t tell ‘mom.’

“We do.” Leorio’s tone, albeit gentle, was resolute.

Killua let out a long sigh and lied back onto the mattress so he didn’t have to stare at Leorio’s stupid face, in turn, denying himself the urge to punch it.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Floor’s yours.”

“Oh. Ha. Well, yes. I uh… I honestly didn’t really… Think this through, but er—let’s see. You know that we’re here for you, right? You aren’t stuck in that terrible excuse of a home anymore. You don’t have to feel alone.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it! Seriously. What you did wasn’t cool.”

“Right.”

“Damn it,” Leorio groaned, before running his hands over his face and sighing. “Look, I won’t lie, I’m a little bit tipsy and… I don’t fully understand what to say to you, or what you did at all, really, because… Well, I’m a medic and I’ve seen people suffer unspeakably. Really. Thought I’d seen it all. Warts in places you wouldn’t think it were possible to develop warts, breath stinkier than the bottom of a wet garbage can, bullet holes in chests and bodies mangled to the point of unidentification. Sorry. Too graphic? What I’m trying to say is… In a world where so many people are fighting for their lives, I don’t know why anyone would be trying to take their own.”

Killua watched the ceiling fan rotate in its dull, motorized manner and allowed Leorio’s words to infiltrate his lungs, until suddenly it felt like his lungs were closing up. He inhaled sharply, through his nose and bit down the imagined weight.

“I get that,” he mustered. “But I wasn’t trying _anything_ , Leorio.”

“See, I wanna believe you. I really do, but I’m smarter than you guys gimme credit for.” Now there was a tinge of unhinged sadness to Leorio’s voice that Killua wasn’t sure what to do with. “Gon said you were just stood there like a statue. He said he had to physically shove you out of the way with all the strength he could muster. Like you’d bodily given up.”

“Gon’s just being dramatic,” Killua didn’t know why, but he felt the need to make Leorio feel better about the situation, even if Leorio had approached him aiming for vice versa. It had taken a long time for Killua to warm up to Gon’s friends, but now that he had, he was truly grateful for them.

The distinction had been clear once they’d showed up at his estate alongside Gon, that determined flare in their eyes cementing the fact that they were no longer just Gon’s friends, but his, too. _His_ friends. People he could keep. “I’ve seen people paralyzed out of shock. It’s a neurogenic shock caused from severe emotional disturbance. They feel all jumbled inside, like their arteries are clogged up and there’s dirt in their lungs. But it’s all in their heads. Somehow that makes it worse. Is that what…?”

“Nah.”

Leorio was arguably one of the nicest people Killua had ever had the privilege to get to know, and Killua hated seeing him get so perturbed—over _him_ out of all people.

“Tsk,” Leorio smelt like booze and antibacterial soap. Killua couldn’t believe how well he’d come to recognize that smell. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Killua admitted. Just because he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. “It was an accident.” They both knew what he was _really_ talking about.

“You scared the hell out of him. And us.”

It felt so odd to be treated in this way. Sure, it wasn’t like his own family didn’t instant on caring about him. In fact, they seemed to care so much they smothered him with that care until breathing was impossible and he felt like he had to put as much distance in between himself and them as he could humanly manage. This was… different. He’d somehow upset these people, because he’d almost hurt himself? It felt like he was waiting for a punchline that never presented itself.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, this is all wrong…” Leorio was shaking his head vehemently at this point, and Killua was a little worried that it would snap off. Killua sat up despite himself and nudged Leorio’s elbow with his own. “Don’t get all soft on me. It’s weird.” When Leorio looked back at him, his eyes were actually turning glassy. It made Killua feel like he’d been struck in the chest with a poisoned dart. “I’m sorry, too. That I’m so helpless. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let me know. I’m not like you guys, you know. My _nen_ is average at best. I don’t have superhuman abilities but I like to think that helping people heal is my forte.”

 _You big, annoying sap_.

Killua couldn’t help it when his lips tugged up in a feeble smile. “I appreciate it.” He wished he could tell Leorio how he didn’t think he was helpless at all, how he admired his good heart, considering the puppet master had used Killua’s own heart against him, ransacked and annihilated by Illumi. Leorio would’ve never had to worry about such a thing, because he was so integrally kind, and that was something Killua could value considering all he’d grown up on was the opposite of kindness.

At this, Leorio broke into a self-satisfied grin before slapping Killua hard on the back and pulling him into a suffocating bear hug. “Okay, okay. You can let go of me now,” Killua choked, as he awkwardly rubbed the guy’s upper back. “I’m pretty damn wise sometimes, aren’t I? Man, I should consider becoming a diplomat or something. Think I could advocate for world peace?” Killua thought that Diplomat Leorio would probably somehow manage to put at risk even the meagre peace the world had so far managed to accomplish.

There was a brief knock on the door.

“Oh, I think that’s my cue.”

Killua groaned. “What is this, time for act two?”

Apparently.

* * *

**ii. Kurapika**

“Hey,” Killua couldn’t help but notice how Kurapika made his words sound so small, as if he never wanted to take a bigger bite of the cake then was intended. He always spoke in a tone that was placid and unnecessarily formal. It felt both polite and insultingly reserved at the same time.

“I’m hungry,” Killua stated. “Can we drop this crap and go get something to eat instead?”

“Oh,” Kurapika offered a small nod, as if he were going to oblige, but then he just grabbed a chair from the study desk and sat down in front of him. _What an asshole._ “I asked Gon to order us something from the cafe downstairs.” _How convenient._ “So you’re telling me I’m trapped,” Killua said, without any heat.

“Want me to use my chains on you and make it official?” Kurapika teased, raising an eyebrow in that passive, yet genial way of his.

“Try me,” Killua challenged, in a low voice.

Neither of them did anything at all. Kurapika just sat there for a couple of minutes in utter, meditative silence that was beginning to drive Killua up the wall and making him want to scratch his own flesh off his face.

“Was this your grand idea?” Killua asked.

The reality was, he could escape if he really wanted to, but he had too much respect for his friends to flake on them like that. Plus, there was a smaller part of him—one which he didn’t really want to address—that felt intrigued at the prospect of having anyone truly care about him enough to want to back him into a complete corner like this.

“Gon’s,” he said, shortly.

“That’s not like him at all.”

“I thought so too, at first. He’s worried about you and wants us to knock some sense into you.”

“He can talk to me himself.”

“Maybe once he’s concluded seething.”

“He was calm about it the day it happened,”

“He was preoccupied then, with the eye-stealing megalomaniac on the loose?”

Killua rolled his eyes. “Stupid,” he mumbled.

“May I say something?” Kurapika asked. There was a certain layer of darkness sleeping soundly beneath his eyes, like shadows etched in a watercolor painting. It felt stark against the washed out hue of his skin and the sun-beaten blond of his hair. Killua’s gaze kept being drawn by his earring, bright as a drop of blood dangling against the side of his neck. Something about Kurapika had always felt familial, as if he recognized him from a mirror he’d looked into a long time ago. Killua could tell Kurapika had a hard time staying in one place for too long for fear of belonging, that he felt like a prisoner in his own skin and that he was constantly at war with himself. Except Kurapika hadn’t been born into that darkness like Killua had, rather, he’d adapted to it and come to meet with it face-to-face after he’d lost everything else. In Kurapika’s case, the darkness hadn’t followed _him_ , he’d followed _it_. That was the one thing Killua didn’t really get. Why voluntarily put yourself through hell? Killua had been conditioned by hell, and knew first-hand that once you were affiliated with it, the damn stuff clung to you like a limpet.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve thought about it myself,” he was facing Killua, but at the same time, Killua knew he wasn’t looking at him at all. He had already flittered to somewhere unknowable in his head, some place with a dark sun only he had the power to venture to. “When I first found my clan massacred, the only plausible choice seemed to be to join them. Survivor’s guilt, right? My continued pulse wasn’t fair to them. I had nobody left. I deserved to die right alongside them. I figured maybe it would make things less painful.” Killua just watched him and said nothing, too afraid he’d strike a nerve if he interrupted. It felt like sitting in a room with an active bomb. “I didn’t go through with it, of course, because soon after came the unparalleled rage and suddenly all I could think about was making them feel as hopeless as I did, making them experience the same pain they put my people through. I was having fantasies of destruction and that kept me satiated. I thought, I will live, I will live to fulfill my duty as a Kurta, I will retrieve the eyes they pilfered from us and wipe out every Spider involved.” Kurapika closed his eyes a moment, and Killua could see from the prominently strained vein in his neck that he was reliving some sort of exhaustive experience. Killua knew that expression well. He was just better at concealing his.

“What I mean is, I understand why you did it.”

“It wasn’t something I _planned_ for.”

“I know,” Kurapika replied. “It just hit you like a ton of bricks, didn’t it? One minute, you had something to live for. And another, you were giving it up.”

“I hate this,” Killua grumbled.

“Me too,” Kurapika said, with a small laugh that surprised Killua. He opened his eyes and offered Killua a sympathetic smile. “You're not thinking it was a good idea on any level, are you?"

“If I get half as much hell for trying something like that again, I’ll never hear the end of it in the afterlife.” Killua said, jokingly. Kurapika nodded, before leaning over and giving him a nimble, supportive squeeze on the shoulder. “I think that was room service,” he added. “You still hungry?”

“Starving.” Killua said, gratefully.

Finally, someone who not only understood, but acknowledged the temptation of it.

* * *

 iii.  **Gon**

The words leapt up into Killua’s throat like toads before dissolving at the helm of his tongue. He watched Gon swallow—harder than necessary. His Adam’s apple pulsing slightly, jaw drawn up like a shield. Gon’s grudges were impish and full of potholes, like a toddler holding their own breath because they weren’t getting what they wanted. To test, to rile up.

Killua’s own indignation was a slow-convening storm, formless and quiet.

It felt as if there was a jagged wall of ice in between them, frigid and crafted to baseless perfection. It didn’t matter where it’d erupted from. Killua hated fighting with Gon, he especially hated fighting over something as miniscule as what had happened on those train tracks.

Why couldn’t Gon just drop it like he did most things?

The night had been steadily growing cold. Kurapika pulled the windows down to keep the sniping breeze from wandering in and reducing them all to popsicles. The cicadas trilled on outside like an unwanted audience. Washed in the dim light of the tiny hotel double-room, all the events of the past couple of days felt dreamy and far away; incomprehensible in the mundanity of chipped wallpaper and old acquaintances.

Gon refused to say a word to him as they ate.

Oh that was _just_ fine. Two could play at this dumb game.

Kurapika and Leorio were draped over the other couch, hogging on their own bowls and exchanging pensive looks over their heads that Killua didn’t really care to decipher. He was too busy glaring down Gon, who was chowing down on his rice, his movements restless and blunt. Dark eyebrows drawn downwards like a graph depicting an economic depression. 

“What the hell is your problem?” Killua snarled, unable to bite his chagrin down any longer.

“Oh here we go. Men, draw your swords.” Leorio said, which led Kurapika to disapprovingly smack him in the back of the head.

Gon shot Killua a look of undeniable wrath. “Oh. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He shot him a look of pure disbelief.

Gon shrugged and kept on ignoring him.

“If you have something to say to me, just say it, damnit!”

“I’m just mad!

 _Only yesterday, I dusted myself off, and you held my hand as you lead me off the tracks._ Somehow the warmth of it had settled against Killua’s ribs like spiderwebs of starlight. Gon’s anger was hardly baseless, but it was also misplaced and unpleasant. Killua had been bred a cold-hearted killer and even he knew this wasn’t the right way to be dealing with a situation as sensitive as what to the idle spectator—probably looked like an attempt at suicide.

“You’re mad I did something you didn’t like? Something that ruined your plans for the evening? Well, guess what, Gon. That’s reality for you.”

“No! I’m mad you tried to _hurt_ yourself!” Gon bellowed. The word ‘hurt’ thrown hard as an intangible slap.

Now, his expression rippled like a stone tossed into still water. “Why—Would you do that?”

It was a good thing they were finished eating. Kurapika practically tore Leorio off his feet and dragged him towards the door that led outside into the hallway. “We’ll give you guys some privacy. You better be hugging it out by the time we’re back.” With that, they slipped away, even as Killua caught the tail-end of Leorio’s poignant complaint. “Why can’t _we_ kick _them_ out?” 

“Do you want to be away from me that badly?” Gon's voice had grown wary. 

Killua shook his head, unable to believe how misunderstood this was becoming. “Some things aren’t about you.”

Killua sighed, he felt ill. He really didn’t want to fight. There was a knot inside his stomach, the ends of which were catching fire. Gon had put his bowl down, and now he was standing up and pacing the length of the room. The wind outside was picking up and its shrill hum echoed through the thin walls in a haunting monotine, broken only by the occasional trinkle of windchimes. Gon’s eyes, usually a warm, placating honey-brown, looked about three shades darker in the weak light. The freckles that splayed his cheeks reminded Killua of cinnamon sugar, but the pursed line of his lips revealed to be a dead-end. There was a magmic undertone to his voice when he spoke, but Killua could tell he was attempting to reel it in.

“Killua,” he said, with a considerate pause. “I’m not the smartest. So maybe you can explain it to me. Why would you want to hurt you?”

Killua’s lip quirked. It was the way in which he said it, with the slightest tilt of the head, like an appraising owl. It was sweet and fiendish, a testament to Gon’s formative years of being exposed to more animals than people. Was that why Gon felt so discombobulated by his actions? In the wild, survival was the primary concern, even more essential than the hunt. Killua leaned back against the bottom bone of the sofa, where he was scrunched up on the floor with his wrists dangling from his knees. He took one final bite from the chocolate robot, out of the pack Kurapika had snagged for him. His dinner long inhaled and discarded.

“It was a moment of weakness. I was thinking—I wasn’t thinking, but… I couldn’t stand the idea of betraying you.”

“I told you,” Gon said, as he plopped himself down next to Killua. “I don’t care about being betrayed. Not if you’re the one doing the betraying.”

Killua blinked up at the green-clad kid with the bruised cheeks and the smile like a bundle of snapdragons. “How could you say that?” he demanded.

“Well, it’s because you mean more than a little betrayal to me. Friends don’t give up on friends. Even if something goes wrong, they find a way to make it right. They forgive. Don’t they?”

It didn’t seem like the wrong answer. It was all too reductive and simplistic, but then again, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t everything come down to something primal and easy as day anyway? Occam’s razor or whatever? Killua had never been the type to not consider every possible, to not overthink and overexert and spend countless wasted hours attempting to calculate and formulate and predict a universe that always meant to derail him and garner the upperhand in the end. But it was exhausting. And here was Gon, stubborn to a fault and so painfully pure it sometimes made him terrible. Killua deeply wanted to see that perspective, like watching the reflection of mountains through a crystal lake and suddenly they seem easier to climb, a ripple leading to a vanish.

“I really wish the world was the way you make it out to be, Gon.” Killua said, lovingly. At this, Gon broke into a little, haphazard smile and then the world narrowed down to the heat of a hand on his knee. The skin of Gon’s palm felt like that of a craggy orange peel. Killua’s breath hitched without ceremony. The frown lines in between Gon’s eyes borne out of anger—finally began to smoothen out; bronze skin limned with gold in the lamp’s muted sightline.

“You know, there’s not a lot of things that scare me,” he admitted. Killua wondered if Gon could feel the tensing nerves beneath his knee. “You do, though. _You_ scare me a lot! When you say awful things about yourself and pretend I don’t notice or don’t care. When you run after me headfirst into danger. When you do everything to protect me, but drop all that caution when it comes to you. And I want you to make me understand so that… So that I can do a better job at being your best friend, and—and take care of you, the way you take care of me.”

Killua’s heart dissolved into a choir of butterflies. He felt a little lightheaded from all of Gon’s big, bold words, as if his head were stuffed with cotton. That was always how it was when Gon was doing the talking because he never did anything without giving it his whole. Every word held the weight of the sky. “I’m sorry I got angry. I take it back. Okay?” Now Gon was falling into Killua’s lap and nuzzling his face against Killua’s stomach, sighing into the soft material of his turtleneck as he wrapped loose arms around the small of his back.

“Gon,” Killua couldn’t feel his cheeks, they were too hot and too heavy and too numb all at once.

 _“I’m_ the one who’s supposed to do stupid things, remember? Are we trading occupations now?” Gon asked, words muffled against the softness of his stomach. Killua laughed, a soft and fragile thing; all too lost in translation. “Not in a million years,” he replied, before swallowing his fear and raising splayed, tentative fingers to rest in the dark mess of Gon’s hair. Gon hummed a small, pleasant sigh, and taking that as an okay, Killua began to gently brush a light, thoughtful hand through them. There was something incomprehensible and lucid taking form within his chest, and all Killua wanted was to whip it into shape so that he could _understand_ already.

Maybe some other day, when he was less tired and Gon wasn’t upset. They were only children after all, and there would be a later time for saying things that didn’t necessarily make sense and breathing life into that uncertainty: those stars that swept his brain everytime he attempted to grasp at it, blurring his vision. Killua had to believe that they would have the time for that, and that he wouldn’t ever feel the need to cut his life off prematurely ever again. There would be plenty of time to reevaluate and fret and worry when they were older and no longer remembered what it was like to love in a way that didn’t nip and undo. Killua rubbed small circles into the nape of Gon’s neck and Gon smushed his cheek into him, making his warm breath tickle Killua’s belly. Breathing was somehow both more difficult and more natural with Gon pressed up against him like this. “I promise I’ll try to fight it,” he didn’t realize he was saying the words out loud. “Illumi’s the one poison I never gained immunity against. He’s gotten inside my head. Taunting me, reminding me that I’m a weapon meant to be wielded accordingly. Telling me I should run before I…” he didn’t have to travel past the edge of the cliff for Gon to pick up on exactly what he meant.

“Illumi is wrong,” he said, withdrawing to meet Killua’s gaze with a lacerating conviction in his chestnut eyes. “He’s never going to have the satisfaction. You will _break_ him.” Killua stared at Gon, and dread shot up his spine like an ivy drip as he realized there were tears reflected in the other boy’s eyes. They were wet and sloppy and they lilted down his cheeks like forks of trapped lightning and made his eyelashes droop like flower stalks. Killua’s thumbs were at his cheeks, softly brushing every sign of distress away, his own chest damp with feeling. Big words and unknown notions and all of the things in the world that could never be said—only painfully felt.

And it felt, painfully unfamiliar.

This was the first time Killua had seen Gon cry for somebody other than himself.

“Hey,” he said, propping a finger under Gon’s chin like he used to do with… his little sister? He had a little sister, didn’t he? The thought fizzled away before he could focus on it. “Stop it.”

Gon was smiling through his tears, but it wasn’t pleasant. Rather, it was gnarled and resolute and something hinging on promises of blood. “The puppet built out of your heart was defeated.” He insisted. Now Gon was reaching out, too, cupping Killua’s cheeks. “The real Illumi won’t be half as easy.” Killua said, with a soft swallow. Gon’s fingers travelled down and halted against where Killua’s pulse was beating hot and fast, making a thrill erupt through his veins. Gon closed his eyes a moment, as if relieving in it. His face was _right there._ If Killua leaned even the least bit forward, he would barrel into Gon’s forehead. The space in between their mouths was small and easily closable… Why was he even thinking about the space in between their mouths?

“Maybe not, but I’m never letting him have you.” Gon said. Before Killua could say anything else, Gon did something insane and whimsical and enormous—he sat up and wrapped his arms around Killua’s neck, before disturbing the distance and placing a rough, inexperienced, thoughtless, smearing kiss against Killua’s lips. Killua went rigid as frost clinging to a windowsill. Then his own lips reacted like wicks to a flame and warmth shredded his body to dregs full of moonlight and teeth and heavy waterlogged limbs. Gon’s breath was shallow and short but something within it finally spelled it out for him—brought shape and meaning to the amorphous feeling that had previously baffled him. It didn’t even register that Gon had just kissed him because it was all over too soon and Gon had pulled away just as quickly as he had reached him, only to rest his forehead against Killua’s and say, “You are not a weapon. You are my best friend and I love you.”

_I love you, too. I love you, too. I love you, too._

“Gon, I—” why did the words seem fleeting, spectral—like they would do no justice to this understatedly immense and nebulous feeling? “I will be here as long as you want.”

“Always?” Killua’s heart lols past his feet splat on the floor.

It was the voice of a hopeful child soldier before he’d truly learnt the taste of war.

_Until my last breath._

“Yeah.”

Somehow they ended up standing outside on the tiny hotel balcony, bare feet clumsy and freezing against the frosty tiles and elbows awkward and knees buckling and boyish laughter in tune with the cicadas. It was a dumb idea to step out into the cold but they were thirteen years old and their lives were made up of dumb ideas. They’d made their journey wrapped up in the same blanket with their hips brushing and sharing body warmth. Gon was holding Killua’s hand, and his hand was sweaty despite the weather and he’d never felt more certain about anything in his life.

He didn’t have a life goal, not yet. He knew it was stupid, you couldn’t make a _person_ your life goal.

One day, he figured, he’d find a way out of Illumi’s iron fist and learn his true purpose. Until then, he was cozy being by Gon’s side, as long as Gon let him. So what if things had escalated and he’d ended up almost dead? He knew now. _This_ was what he wanted to live for.

Killua closed his eyes and pictured it one last time.

The setting sun etched the sky in its molten sheen and the air had felt all too hot in his lungs, far from breathable. He’d been staring down at his own feet, as if they were alien to him, a pair of insects leading him to the grave. No, he hadn’t been thinking about dying, but within the upheaval of his every waking fear, he wouldn’t have minded if he had. He remembered the heat of the headlights against his back and the distinct unease of realization—the moment it clicked and the earth beneath his feet heaved with the weight of the ostensible danger. His throat reduced to a well of pain, his heart didn’t exist, but in that last, trembling second—His final thought had been Gon. So it felt like nothing short of a miracle when he felt as though he’d been body slammed by a boulderstone and strong, familiar arms draped his shoulders with the fiercest grip and he heard the train rattle away, leaving behind no bodies. When his eyes opened, it was to a sight so faithful Killua’s heart pounded with relief. He’d asked if he’d been hurt, but it was like his system had fixed itself at the mere sight of Gon. Within that moment, the blinding pain had been replaced with critical awe. _I don’t care anymore._ He had to care. Not for his own sake, but for the sake of this emerald of a boy who’d welcomed him into his life with open arms and allowed him to stick around. He let the memory pass just as Gon’s cool fingers came up to rest below Killua’s elbow underneath the covers.

“Look!” Gon screeched, excitedly, and Killua followed his gaze.

Oh, yeah. That was right.

It was cherry blossom season, not that Killua usually noticed that sort of thing. He remembered when he was younger, he’d admire the way it seemed as if the entire universe outside of his childhood bedroom window were blushing, but it wasn’t the sort of thing he was allowed to be overexposed to, in case it made him too soft, literally something the Zoldycks deeply feared—for a bunch of deadly assassins, it was insane how vulnerable they were to anything they dubbed too sincere. He still recalled afternoons spent with Canary, playing Godzilla vs Batman underneath swathes of roseate.

Now the cherry blossom trees were letting down their hair again and a low, gibbous moon reflecting the rosy light of the flowers peeked out from behind the trees.

Gon stared in awe at the pink rain of petals gracing the chilly spring air, and Killua stared in awe at him.

“What? It’s just flowers,” Killua said.

“They remind me of you. They’re soft and pretty and they seem to want to fall!”

“I’m _not_  pretty!” Killua snapped, because the last thing he was going to do was admit how much it endeared him when Gon made silly, praising comments like that. “I have like, claws, you know.”

“Of course,” Gon continued, as if he hadn’t heard his protest. “The flowers are not as lucky as you.”

“That so?”

“Yes,” Gon nodded, before pressing another warm kiss, this time, to Killua’s cheek. Maybe because he hadn't been anticipating it, the gesture spurred a tiny whit of lightning under his skin, shocking Gon. "Sorry," Killua murmured with a small gasp, but Gon only threw his head back and laughed, seemingly endeared. The effect was carnivorous and ate through his whole body. Killua wondered if it was possible that all these pep talks he’d gotten had been for nothing and that he might just die anyway; from exposure to Gon’s lips.

“Whenever you want to fall, you’ll just say the word, and I’ll catch you!”

“Shut up, stupid!”

Killua did the thing where he looked away from Gon because looking directly at him might permanently damage his retinas and Gon was grinning at him with those wide, dreamy eyes and Killua thought he wanted to be locked up in the guileless ease of that moment forever.  

Yet as with most moments in life, Killua knew it couldn’t possibly last.

When Leorio and Kurapika returned, they settled in the common room and Leorio told them a bunch of really gruesome stories from his medical internship and Kurapika reminded them to brush their teeth before they went to bed and Killua and Gon finished a packet full of chocolate robots in between them (and if their knees were touching throughout, that wasn’t something Killua was going to complain about). Killua tried to memorize the sound of Kurapika’s laugh (soundless and yet as impactful as sunshine) and couldn’t help but take note of how Leorio always removed his glasses and began to intensely clean them with the hem of his shirt whenever there was an awkward silence and Gon fell asleep on Killua’s thigh with his arms clasped around his stomach again and Killua attempted to count and memorize the constellations of Gon's freckles and ran an idle finger over the tiny dimple that formed under his chin when he frowned in his sleep.

At least for the night, everything felt safe and happy and right. Killua stared down at Gon, who was still clutching onto him like he might dematerialize. He could still taste his kisses at the back of his throat, somehow sweeter than chocolate and warmer than the blanket they were entangled in. The feeling that began in his chest was beginning to bloom outwards and further mold itself into something recognizable. Discreetly, when Leorio and Kurapika were too engrossed in their own conversation to notice, Killua leaned down and pressed a quick peck to both of Gon’s eyelids, the eyes he’d almost lost in an effort to protect Killua. Gon didn’t stir in his sleep, but his eyelids fluttered gently and one of his fingers curled under the hem of Killua’s shirt at the small of his back, digging into his bare skin like an anchor. When Killua looked back up at his friends (their eyes rapt on one another as if maybe there was something unspeakable in between them, too) it felt like letting go of a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.

Illumi couldn’t touch him and he was not someone’s prodigy or someone’s weapon or someone’s killer. No, for one night—all he wanted to be was someone’s friend.

That was something he was good at.  

**Author's Note:**

> i'm aware the hxh movies aren't very well received & that it isn't technically canon but that scene where kil almost got hit by a train in phantom rouge really got to me ok so i wrote myself an indulgent fic to make me feel better alright T_T thank you for reading and please leave me a comment if you liked it <3
> 
> i have a [tumblr](winterblues.tumblr.com) come talk to me about these kids sometime


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